Captive Hearts
by MirrorAuror
Summary: I, Hermione Granger, have been taken. The Second Great War is raging-Voldemort rises in power every day. I am being held prisoner in the Malfoy Manor. A Mudblood in a house filled with Death Eaters...and it seems the only friend I have is Draco Malfoy.
1. A Light In The Darkness

**This is my first fanfic, so I apologize if it's complete rubbish...Also, I'm trying my hand at a Hunger Games (first person/present tense) style. I hope you all enjoy this! And please review, I'd really appreciate any feedback! Second chapter will be coming soon :)**

I wake slowly, the pain in my head rising to a dull, aching throb. As I blink the fog of sleep from my eyes I become aware that I am in near-complete darkness. I am sitting on my knees on a cold, firm floor. My arms are resting at an odd height – my hands level with my face. Then I realize that my wrists are chained to the wall. A rush of panic shoots through my chest, and I gasp as I remember why I am here.

The War. The Dark Lord. The Malfoys.

I am a prisoner at the Malfoy Manor; a prisoner of the Second War. I am in their cellar, which has clearly been emptied for use as a dungeon. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I notice a faint light coming from a distance – away to my left. I turn and see a short flight of about ten or fifteen steps leading up to a door. The door is completely solid, save for a very small window covered in several iron bars. It is through this window that the light is coming. For a moment, I struggle with the heavy chains wrapped generously around my wrists, before coming to my senses and realizing it is futile.

As the seconds pass, I remember things. Important things. I remember how I was captured, and how I was brought to the Malfoy Manor. But as I close my eyes and think back, I cannot remember how I came here, to this cellar – this dungeon.

The pain in my head eventually fades, and I force myself to come to grips with my situation. I am, as the Death Eaters say it, a Mudblood. I am a Mudblood in a house full of Death Eaters. I know full well that my future here is not a happy one. I feel a hot anger rising in my chest when I recall that Draco Malfoy is also in this house. I remember catching a brief glimpse of him standing to the side in the courtyard when I was first brought here – however long ago that was. I remember the look on his face. It had been one of obvious disgust as he silently watched me, the filty Mudblood, being dragged off into his home as prisoner. My stomach churns as I relive that moment. Draco and I had never been anywhere near friends at Hogwarts – he took every opportunity to humiliate me. But worst of all, he had been there the night Dumbledore had been killed. He had lead the Death Eaters into the school that night, and even pointed his own wand at our Headmaster's chest. Despite all of this, despite the loathing I feel towards him, it still irks me that he just stood by and watched as I was brought into his home.

The minutes pass, but get lost in the darkness of my mind and feel more like hours dragging on as I kneel by the wall, the cold chains pressing uncomfortably into my skin. A good amount of time must have passed, for I jerk awake, unaware that I had dozed off.

I see that the door at the top of the stairs has opened, and light floods the dark room. Blinking, trying to adjust my eyes to the sudden brightness, I watch three dark shapes descend. The sound of their expensive shoes hitting the stone steps echoes off the walls.

By the time they reach me, my vision is somewhat cleared and I can see who's come. Lucius and Draco Malfoy, and Bellatrix Lestrange. My heart starts to race, and I feel a wave of panic rushing over me. Lucius steps toward me, resting lazily on his cane. Draco stands silent and stiff behind him, his face void of expression.

"Well, Miss Granger, our little Mudblood…" Lucius speaks, his lip curling into a malicious grin. "We welcome you to our home. I trust you have enjoyed your stay so far? We prepared this room specially for filthy creatures such as yourself…"

Bellatrix cackles in her maddeningly harsh voice.

I hold my chin up and clench my jaw, staring straight into Lucius' eyes without blinking. I refuse to show them any sign of submission. Submission reveals weakness, and my weakness will only feed their bloodlust.

"Now, we have some questions for you…Bella?" Lucius nodds to his sister-in-law, who swaggers forward, her tattered robes rustling with each step. She uses her wand to tuck a strand of her wild hair behind her ear.

She bends down close to me, and I can see the madness in her glinting eyes. I am terrified, and silently pray that I can hide it well enough.

"So, love, where are your friends?" Bellatrix says in a sickly-sweet tone. I do not answer, and several seconds pass.

"Come now, Mudblood, we have little patience for this…" Lucius hisses quietly.

"If you do not answer me, then I will give you some incentive to loosen your tongue. _Tell us where your friends are!_" Bella shrieks. I still do not answer. I flick my gaze over to Draco for just a moment, and I see him staring intently down at me, his eyes narrowed. He looks furious, but the dark circles under his eyes give him a strange appearance that haunts me. He sees me watching him and quickly looks away.

Suddenly, I see Lucius raise his cane, and I feel it strike across my face. Stars explode in my vision and I cry out, pressing myself back against the wall, desperately wishing my wrists were free and I had my wand; I wonder what they have done with it…

Lucius stands over me, his firey blue eyes flashing with fury, and he slips his wand from the head of his cane.

"Perhaps this will help you find your voice..." His wand points down at me, and the tips of my fingers grow cold as I realize what's coming.

"_Crucio!_"

My screams tear through the silent cellar. The pain is overwhelming. It feels as if my blood is full of shards of glass; every inch of me is in agony. Hardly in control of my own body, I desperately tug at the chains in the wall as I writhe on the cold floor, desperate to escape the pain. A minute later, it stops. I still feel the twingeing pain under my skin, but the immediate curse has lifted. Whimpering, I look up. Lucius is smiling cruelly down at me, and Bellatrix is hopping from one foot to the other, clapping her hands and shrieking with laughter. I feel a cold sweat prickling on my hair line.

Draco stands, still as ever, in the background, and not for one second does he look my way. Why isn't he doing something – _anything_ - to stop this?

"Now, where is Potter?" Lucius asks in mock-patience. I look back up at him defiantly. Once again I do not speak. With my silence I refuse. Again he speaks the curse, and my body and voice scream out in protest. Digging my fingers into the wall, I focus every ounce of my concentration on not begging or pleading. That is the last thing I want to do at this point, as much as I feel the urge, and it is one of the few things over which I still hold some means of control. After a few moments, Lucius lifts the curse. He opens his mouth to question me once more, but Bellatrix leaps forward eagerly and shrieks,

"_Crucio!"_

My body twists unnaturally and my cries rip through the thin air. A minute passes, yet Bellatrix is not lifting the curse. I feel myself losing control. The pain is so horrible, all I can think about is wishing it would end. Suddenly I am sobbing,

"_Please! Draco – Pleeaaaase!"_

As soon as the words leave my mouth, the curse stops. I look up through my tears, shaking uncontrollably. At first I don't realize what I have said, but one look at the expressions on my captors' faces reminds me. I myself am horrified that I cried out for help – especially to Draco. Perhaps it is because he is the one person in this room whom I know has some ounce of humanity left in his heart – however small it may be.

Draco looks utterly shocked as he stares down at me, a furious crease darkening his pale brow.

I hear Lucius laughing, and he reaches down and grabs a fistful of my hair. I shriek as he twists it, forcing my face up to meet his.

"You think Draco is going to help _you_?" he laughs again. "It would appear you are not as bright as we have all heard!" he looks back at Draco, who manages a sneer – though I can't help noticing his heart is not fully in it. Lucius turns once again to look at me. He grabs my face, squeezing my jaw between his thumb and forefingers. He turns my face in both directions, then he says,

"It's a shame, really…such a pretty face wasted on your foul, repulsive blood…"

Furious, and sick of the insults, I gather the saliva in my mouth and with all the force I can muster, I spit in his face. The initial shock is satisfying to witness.

But immediately, his expression darkens to fury. He draws back his hand and strikes me across my face. The force of it burns, and my eyes fill once more with hot tears. He strikes me again, then again…he is reaching back to hit me yet another time, when Draco speaks up. The sound of his voice seems so surreal in this place, as if the idea that he's playing a part in this nightmare refuses to compute in my mind…as if part of me cannot believe it…

"Perhaps…perhaps we should leave her for now." All eyes, including mine, have turned on him. I can feel the anger seeping from Lucius, and his annoyance at being interrupted is quite tangible.

"She clearly isn't going to tell us anything; maybe she just needs time alone..in the dark..to…loosen her tongue." Draco seems uncertain of himself, but I feel a rush of gratitude when Lucius releases my hair and steps away from me.

"Perhaps you are right. Let's leave her here for another day or so…maybe then she will be ready to speak to us." Lucius says in his smooth, icey voice. Then without another word, they all turn and ascend the stairs. Just before the door closes, I see a brief flicker of light. A weight lifts from my wrists, and they fall to my lap, no longer chained. I am too grateful to try to wonder who or why, and I start rubbing the warmth back into my fingers.


	2. And the Suffocating Darkness Falls

**So this chapter is a bit painful – but don't worry, there's a reason for it; it's all going somewhere :) Thank you so much for reading – and please review! :)**

The hours pass by at an agonizingly slow rate. Eventually, I stop shaking, and the pangs in my body subside. My face still feels hot from Lucius' harsh hand. With my own hands free, I am able to move about my prison. But there is nothing to see. It is completely empty save for myself and the chains that hang from the wall. Every so often I can hear the murmur of conversation coming from the room above me. I strain my ears to pick out the words being said, but it's useless. I finally give up and sit back down against the cold stone wall. Upon closing my eyes, sleep overtakes me instantly.

I wake several times, each time feeling weaker than the time before. From this, I know that the hours are passing much faster than I can keep track. I know I am dehydrated; my throat is parched, and my head is pounding. I am also suffering from frequent pangs of hunger. I have no way of knowing how many hours or days have passed since they left me here. I consider climbing the stairs and calling out, demanding a drink; but I cannot bring myself to do it; I cannot let them think I am breaking. I wait for this thought to fade in my mind, and moments later I drift once again into fitful sleep.

Twice more I wake up, and the second time, my joints ache and I can hardly move. I lie with my back against the wall, shivering, though from cold or fever I cannot tell.

After more time passes, and sleep is no longer coming to me, I hear the door open. This time I don't try to move to see who comes. I know by the sound of the footsteps that it is only one person. The door closes behind them, but I hear,

"_Lumos." _ And light fills the cellar. I know the voice to be Lucius', and my pulse quickens. I still don't move, but lie there, shivering, and hoping that the torture does not last long.

He approaches me, and with his foot, turns me onto my back. I claw weakly at his leg, and he laughs.

"I think you're about ready to speak, are you not? But first…you look as though you need a drink…_Immobilis._"

I immediately feel all my movements slowed, even my breathing. He reaches down and forces my mouth open. He poises his wand over my mouth and says quietly, "_Aguamenti._"

A stream of water pours from the tip of his wand into my mouth. At first I welcome the feeling, but then I begin to panic. Even my swallowing is slowed, so the water flows freely down my throat. I struggle to close my throat, but I cannot do it fast enough. Lucius places his hand firmly on my chest, then removes the Immobilis spell. I turn my head and spit out the water, but then Lucius forcefully grabs my face and forces my jaws open once more, not letting go. I feel like I'm drowning, and I try desperately to shut my mouth, but Lucius' grip is too strong. Now I cannot cough out or swallow the water quickly enough to keep up with the stream flowing from his wand. I know that if I try to breathe, the water wil rush into my lungs. Panicking, I reach out and claw at Lucius face, and try to push away his wand. He responds by pinning down my arms and legs with a lock spell. In protest to the panic rising like lava in my chest, I toss my head, trying to shake his grip on my face.

By now, the floor around us is a large, muddy puddle of water. I am unable to hold out any longer; I need to breathe. I open my windpipe, and as I knew would happen, the water rushes into my lungs. Instantly, my body responds. I am overcome with violent coughing, but every time I cough, more water rushes into my lungs. It is a horrible feeling, more terrifying than anything. Finally Lucius stops the flow of water. I am still coughing, the water burning like fire as what is left of it trickles down into my lungs. My eyes had been tightly shut up to this point. Now I open them and stare up at Lucius who glares down at me with that smug expression on his face as he watches me. He releases my face, and I turn it to the side, spitting out the water that remains in my lungs. I am still unable to move my arms or my legs, and every sporadic breath I take still sears through my lungs.

But I stare up at him resolutely, reminding him that I refuse to speak. Lucius' face twists into a taunting smirk. He kneels over me and slips a knife from a sheath on the belt of his gilded black robes. He places the knife on my throat. I bite my lip to keep from making a sound as he slides it down my neck. With a flick of his wrist, he cuts the top button from my shirt. He wraps his other hand firmly around my throat as he slices off the second button. Now he presses the tip of the knife into my skin. I gasp as I feel the sting. He slowly drags the knife down, through the strings of the next two buttons, and I feel the blood gathering as he cuts my skin. I cry out, trying with all my strength to move my arms, but he closes his hand around my neck, cutting off my voice, mid-scream.

"Will you tell me where your friends are?" He hisses, not pausing as he continues to drag the knife down my skin. He releases my throat and I shake my head. I know I will never tell him anything, but I cannot control my cries any longer. He releases the spell on my arms and legs, and I immediately scramble back, out from under him. I pull my shirt closed, trying to ignore the stinging pain and the blood, and I push myself against the wall.

Lucius looks down on me as if I were the most disgusting, abhorrent thing he has ever seen. Then he turns on his heel and walks quickly up the stairs. When he closes the door behind him, I can hear the start of a conversation.

"Anything?" it is the voice of another Death Eater.

"No, she refuses to talk. We will have to go further tomorrow. Get Draco to bring her some food. We can't have her passing out during interrogations."

"Right."

"Has the Dark Lord arrived yet?"

"Not yet. But he has plans to interrogate the Mudblood himself – I am sure she will start talking then."

"Excellent."

The conversation is clearly over now, and I close my eyes, trying to relax. I feel cold all over. Voldemort is coming. I cannot imagine what he has in mind for me; but I know that I will not be able to survive it for long. I dwell on this new terror for so long I forget that there had been promise of food. The door at the top of the stairs opens, and again I hear someone approaching. A thrill of terror rushes through me, and I press myself against the wall, my heart pounding wildly. Right away I see the pale complexion and the platinum blonde hair – for an instant I think it is Lucius, and I gasp, scooting back into the furthest corner of the cellar.

A moment later, I see Draco's face, and I know I was wrong. But the fear remains.

He moves toward me. He is holding a tray of food. He stops a few feet from me, and stands there, awkwardly. He places the tray on the ground and steps back. He starts to turn away, and without thinking, I whisper,

"_Draco, please…_" I don't even know why I said anything. He stops mid-step and looks back over his shoulder.

"What did you say?" His voice is nearly as hoarse and rough as mine. His expression is stony as he looks at me.

I do not have the nerve to repeat my plea. He waits for me to respond, but when he sees that I am not going to, he simply motions to the tray.

"Just eat. You need it."

With that, he leaves.


	3. Dread

Once he is gone, I check my wound, which is still bleeding. I try to put pressure on it, but I decide I might as well just wait for it to slow itself.

The food Draco brought is nearly inedible, but I force myself to eat it anyway, knowing I won't last long if I don't. When I finish it, I lean back against the wall and close my eyes. I try to think about Harry and Ron, and convince myself that the Order is coming for me. But it's becoming increasingly difficult to hold onto my hope; realistically, I know that there is no way they can find me. I do my best not to cry, but several tears slip out anyway. Then, without warning, Draco creeps into my thoughts. I can't help but think that it was he who broke my chains that night. I try to brush away the thought, for at this point it is easier for me to hate him than to hope that he is on my side. I curse myself for thinking this way; Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater – no different from the others. His loyalties clearly lie opposite of mine. I see the disgust in his face when he looks at me; it is no different from how he would look at me in the days we were at school together. Nothing has changed. He does not care, and the last thing he must want to hear is my voice crying out to him for help. I keep telling myself these things, hoping I will let go of these stupid false hopes. The only reason I called out to him in the first place was just that: false hope. I hoped that maybe he would remember that, once, not long ago, we were simply school mates, and despite the fact that we hated each other, we did - in a sense - grow up together. I thought maybe I could coax some kind of mercy…and there had been something odd in the way he could not meet my eye.

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the door opening once again. In the angled light I can just see a pair of slick black shoes descending the stairs. Eventually I see the face; it's Draco again. I quickly look away, promising myself that I will not say a word, that I won't even look at him, until he has gone.

He approaches me slowly, bends down, and picks up the empty tray. I expect him to leave immediately, but he doesn't. He doesn't move. I still do not look at him, but I focus instead on scratching the dried blood from my hands.

"Hermione…"

In that instance, I forget my promise and look up at him, shocked. He has never, in all the years we have known each other, addressed me in any other fashion save for "Granger", or "Mudblood". And his voice…it had always been so harsh. Now, it was gentle, and it sounded so concerned. It takes all my emotional strength to hold back the urge to trust him. I force myself to remember everything cruel he has ever done. I have not yet answered him, so I wait for him to continue, still staring at him in utter confusion.

"...Are you alright?"

The question almost makes me laugh. It is completely idiotic of him to ask. He saw what they did, he was there. And he did nothing. I want to scream at him.

His slate-grey eyes go to my bloodied hands, then to the cut on my chest. Feeling exposed, I pull my shirt closed over the wound.

"I'm fine." I snap. The sound of my voice shocks me – it's rough and hoarse.

He takes a breath as if he is about to say something else. I look sharply up at him, daring him to continue. But he takes a step back and looks away. The bizarre softness in his expression is gone, turned back into the dark, sullen face that I recognize from our Hogwarts years.

I grit my teeth together, swallowing back my anger. I wish he would leave. After several more seconds, he does. And I tilt my head back against the wall as I listen to his receding steps.

I wake up later, not remembering having fallen asleep. But I wake to a shock; I see someone leaning over me, and before I see their face I scream and lash out. In an instant it's as if I am possessed by terror. My fingernails tear across the person's face and I hear their voice.

"_Ahh!...Damn you!_"

I can't pick out the voice, and I cry out again, panicking. My visitor quickly clamps their hand over my mouth.

"_Shut up! Shut up, it's me! _It's Draco…"

I look closer through the darkness and I recongize his eyes. But I cannot shake my panic, and I try to push him away, scratching and kicking.

"Just _stay still! _ Granger, _stop!_" his voice is strained and he tries to grab hold of my hands to stop me. I start to stand, but he suddenly reaches out and wraps his arms around me. At first I am so shocked by this unwarrented embrace that I freeze. Then, my brain jerks to life once more and convinces me that this is some new attack. I struggle against him, trying to tear away. But he pulls me close and pins my arms to my side with the one arm, placing his other hand on the back of my head.

"_Shh..Keep still. Just stop. Stop…" _ He whispers, his voice still strained.

For a moment more I fight against his hold on me; but his arms are too strong. I am so confused and terrified, I burst into tears. A wave of terrible exhaustion comes over me and my knees buckle. Slowly, he kneels to the ground along with me, still holding me in his arms.

My sobs are muffled in his shoulder; I honestly don't know what to do. I still can't trust him, but what on earth is he doing? What does he mean by all of this? For the moment – but only for this one moment – I decide to forget the past. I try to relax, to stop crying, but I'm shaking uncontrollably. I lose myself in his shoulder, somehow appreciating the calm that's there in the silent darkness. As I try to calm my breathing, I notice his scent. He smells of polished oak, and whiskey, and spices…for a fleeting second it reminds me of my father. That musty-sweet scent that I would smell when I buried my face in his shirt when he would take me into his arms after a long day.

I feel something warm drip on my head. I blink; Draco couldn't be crying…

I remove my face from his shirt and I look up. He looks down at me and I see his face. Three long, ugly scratches run down his cheek, each of them slowly dripping with blood. I shift back from my knees, and - cautiously - he lowers his arms from around me. I raise my hand in front of my eyes and examine my nails: red with fresh blood.

In a childlike manner, I point to his cheek.

"Your face….I…I'm sorry…"

He raises his hand and runs it across the side of his face. When it passes over the scratches, he winces briefly, then wipes away the blood. I now notice that the blue-grey, button-up shirt he's wearing is smeared with blood – the blood from my chest. Still dazed, as if I am in a dream, I reach out and foolishly try to wipe it off. He stops me by taking my hand and gently placing it back in my lap.

"I came to give you this." He says, still in a hushed voice. Every few seconds he steals a quick glance at the door, clearly afraid someone will be coming down after him. He holds out a small vial of clear liquid.

"It's for…" he gestures to the cut on my chest. "It will help."

I haven't yet taken the vial. I look at him, my face a mixture of bewilderment and wonder. I can't figure it out; why is he helping me? He has absolutely nothing to gain, and absolutely everything to lose. It makes no sense. And still I am not sure I can trust him. After a few seconds (during which I make no motion to take the vial) he simply places it in my hands, which lay palm-up in my lap.

"Just use it. It will help." He says. Again, he glances up at the door, then back to me. He closes my fingers tight around the vial and looks directly into my eyes. At that moment, we both hear the door open. I gasp, and I've started shivering again. Draco reacts immediately. He jumps up to his feet and whips his wand from his sleeve, pointing it down at me. His entire face has changed once more into the sullen expression of proud anger. Right before Lucius reaches the foot of the stairs, Draco looks again into my eyes, and what I see in his seems to plead with me for something…but for what?

"Ah, Draco. What, might I ask, are you doing here? And your face, boy…what happened to your face?" Lucius' cold voice gives me the horrid feeling as if ice water has been poured down my back.

Draco looks to his father.  
"I heard noises. I thought she might be up to something. When I came down the stairs, she managed to give me this…" he gestures angrily to his face. Then he looks back at me, his lip curling. "_Filthy little Mudblood!" _he spits out venomously. The words sting just as much as they always have, coming from him.

"I was just about to teach her a lesson on manners…" He continues, still pointing his wand at me.

"I see…well, seeing as I was just about to begin our interrogation for the day, perhaps you can start us off?" Lucius speaks in chilling tones.

Draco suddenly goes very stiff, and he looks at his father.

"What?" he lowers his wand.

"Oh, don't look so surprised, Draco. Come now, help the Mudblood find her voice."

Lucius nods at Draco's wand and leans against his cane, raising one eyebrow, waiting.


	4. A Chilling Facade

My heart begins pounding in my ears and I pull my knees to my chest, trying desperately to stop shaking. I look up at Draco, silently pleading. His jaw is clenched tight. The look in his eyes is so despairing…I begin to realize that I may understand what is happening.

He lifts his wand once more, and for a very brief second, the despair is etched across his face. A moment later a frightening resemblance to his father take its place, and he hisses the word I dread.

"_Crucio!"_

It's awful. Worse than before – if such a thing is possible. I fall to my side on the ground and try to swallow back my sobs and screams. I refuse to give Lucius that satisfaction. I push myself onto my knees, trying to stand through it – to retain some sense of dignity – but seconds later I fall to the floor again, twitching unnaturally as the agony continues. After what feels like hours but is really only moments, I catch in the corner of my eye Draco lowering his wand.

Though the room is spinning around me, I look up at him, trying to focus my vision. I manage to lock onto his face for a moment, and I see, to my surprise, a tear sliding down the side of his face, leaving a clean streak through the blood and scratches I gave him. He turns toward the opposite wall, away from Lucius, for just a second. Quickly he brushes his hand across his face and blinks back the moisture from his eyes. Then he hardens his expression and turns back.

Lucius smiles at his son, but something catches his eye. His smile vanishes, and he shoots a glance down at me. No, not at me – a few feet past me. Draco and I both follow his gaze. Two feet away from my hand, which lies limply open on the ground, is the glass vial Draco had placed in my grasp right before Lucius had entered. It must have rolled from my hand when Draco stopped the curse.

Lucius crosses the room and bends down to pick up the vial. He holds it up to the light, turning it this way and that. Slowly, he looks around at Draco.

"How did she come to have this in her posession?" He speaks slowly, through clenched teeth.

Draco hesitates – which is a terrible mistake, for Lucius takes it as an answer. He walks over to Draco, stopping only inches from him. Draco stares right back at his father, not moving from the place in which he stands.

"I will give you one chance, boy, to give me an honest answer. One..chance…" Lucius raises the silver-serpent head of his cane and presses it up under Draco's chin. It seems Draco has made his choice; he stares silently at Lucius, not even blinking.

"It would appear you, like this filth here, have lost your ability to speak. But…I think you have made yourself _quite_ clear through your silence, Draco."

Lucius slips his wand from the top of his cane. He throws the vial to the ground where it smashes into a hundred tiny pieces of glass, and its clear liquid contents seep into the shallow cracks of the floor.

Draco breaks his father's gaze for a brief second to look down at the broken vial. But in that time, Lucius reaches out and grips the hair on the back of Draco's head, pressing his wand to his son's throat.

"If you can explain yourself, I might be able to forget this new misdemeanor…"

Suddenly, both of them shudder, and step back from one another. Lucius releases the back of Draco's head and grasps at his left sleeve, pulling it up past his wrist. Draco is doing the same. I feel an odd chill race up my back. I see the Dark Mark on Draco's arm, and it almost looks as if it's moving – as if the snake is sliding through the skull's open jaws.

"The Dark Lord has arrived." Lucius says, his voice suddenly hoarse. He looks back at Draco as he slips his wand back into the cane. "I am sure the Dark Lord will have some things to say to you regarding what has just occurred." Then he turns to me. "And _you_…he has something special in mind for you, Mudblood whore."

He storms up the stairs, Draco following close behind. At the last second before the door closes, I see Draco point his wand behind him and motion with it. The door clicks shut, and the glass vial reassembles itself before me, liquid and all. Now I know who it was that loosed my chains that first night.

I wait a few moments after the door has closed before I take the vial. Ignoring the the hundreds of dreadful thoughts pushing to the forefront of my mind at this news of Voldemort's arrival, I remove the small cork and push back the torn edges of my shirt from the wound. Slowly, I pour the liquid over my wound, drop by drop. I have to bite my tonge to keep from crying out. Fortunately, the pain does not last long; even so, it's a good pain – one that tells me the cut is healing. And I can actually see the redness fade. After I finish covering the whole cut, I recork the bottle and place it aside. I crane my neck to examine the results: the angry red color has faded to a healthy-looking pink, and the cut is now half the width it had been seconds ago. The pain is lessened as well. I look at the vial in my lap and I am so tempted to keep it, to hide it so I can use it again – for I know I'll need it. But I have to be smarter than that. I pick it up and crawl on my knees to where Lucius had just destroyed it. After hesitating a couple seconds longer, I throw it down, and for the second time this evening, it smashes into a hundred pieces.

**Ugh, I know…the angst thickens. Sorry this chapter was shorter…but worry not! Two more chapters are already on their way.**


	5. Merciful Slumber

I fall asleep quite easily, having stupidly forgotten the news of Voldemort's arrival. It is the voice that wakes me up. It seeps into my dreams, jerking me awake, and I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding violently in my ears. I quickly walk up the stairs to press my ear against the door. The voice meets me there, and it makes my blood run cold.

"Your loyalties have not changed so soon, have they, Draco?" His voice is high, cold, and cruel, just as Harry had always described it to us. That brief reminder of Harry, of Ron, has sent a horrible pang through my chest, and I quickly brush away the thought.

"I am almost disappointed…But perhaps…you can explain this to me. Explain why you would help this guest of ours?"

Now I hear Draco's voice. It sounds stilted, forced.

"My Lord, I thought that I could get further in questioning her with…a different tack."

"And you thought _kindness_ would work?" the voice is edged with derisive laughter.

"I have seen it work before, my Lord. Especially on her sort."

At this, I feel numb. I cannot tell if he is simply backing himself up, or if he really was trying to play the part and pull the information from me over time by gaining my trust. In my heart, I think I really had been starting to trust him. Of course, I hadn't known it until now. But now, of course, I know I might have been wrong - indeed, I may have made a fatal error - to ever let myself get so as far as considering trust. Voldemort is speaking again…

"_Have_ you now? Interesting. However, I have no time to waste on waiting for…_kindness_…to work on her. Bellatrix and Lucius have this under control; let them do this work. And Draco…do not disappoint me again. I will be watching carefully."

There is a chilling pause.

"Yes, my Lord."

"You are dismissed."

I hear Draco's footsteps receding, then some conversation continues. Voldemort speaks again.

"Lucius, be careful how much you give him access to the girl. His notions of kindness may be misplaced. At this point I do not dout his loyalty…but…be watchful."

"Yes, my Lord. I will alert you if I see any other suspicious behavior from my son."

"Very good. I expect to hear of progress in your questioning of the prisoner soon, Lucius. I do not enjoy being kept waiting. Work her harder; I.._need..answers!_" His voice grows even colder and more harsh. I step away from the door and back down the stairs, shivering. I don't want to hear any more. There is no point in taunting myself with the inevitable. I sit with my back against the cold wall and try to return to sleep. But I can't – I spend the rest of the night staring into the darkness, wondering if there is anyone out there I can put my faith in anymore.

By the amount of time that has passed, I assume that it must be daytime now. I examine my cut again, and find that it has healed even further than it had been last night. It does not hurt every time I take a breath, and it's nearly closed. I do wish that I could fix the buttons on my shirt. It had been ripped open a little lower than I feel comfortable with, and it falls open unless I hold it closed with one hand. I realize that worrying about modesty is pointless in a situation like mine, but fixing something as small as a few buttons on a shirt makes my existence in the small, dark cellar seem not so horrifying. I eventually figure out how to keep it closed; I pull several strings from the loosed buttons, and tie them through the button holes. By the time I finish, it's nothing pretty, but it'll do.

As I have been expecting, the door opens, and Lucius and Bellatrix enter. Part of me had been hoping that Draco would come. But I know that would only end badly, for both of us.

"We're going to dispense with pleasantries today, and get right down to it!" Bellatrix sweeps across the room to me. "Are you going to tell us where your friends are?"

I stand up, glaring at the both of them.

"I will never tell you where they are. I will not betray them just to spare myself from pain. I am no Slytherin." I spit those last words at them. Bellatrix is seething, as is Lucius. But when he speaks, his voice is as cool as ever.

"No, you are no Slytherin. You are a Gryffindor. Proud, brave, courageous…" he says these words as if they leave a bad taste on his tongue. "…and stubborn to your own downfall. You will tell us. We will find a way to make you talk. No matter the cost."

He points his wand at me and ropes snake from its tip, tying themselves around my wrists behind my back.

The next hour is nothing but torture. My screams echo from the cellar throughout the palatial manor. I know that Draco can hear me. And it infuriates me. At last, Lucius and Bellatrix give up and leave me, still tied and lying breathless on the ground, trembling from head to toe, tears streaming down my face and mixing with the streaks of blood.

I slip in and out of consciousness, unaware of the passing of time, only conscious of the pain and the exhaustion. I am alone for a long, long time. The silence presses around me and I feel suffocated. I hate it. Once or twice I try to work off the ropes on my wrists, but my attempts achieve no success.

Hours pass, and finally, I hear the door open. I welcome the light, and even more I welcome the sight of the sleek black shoes I recognize immediately as Draco's. Even though the sight of him angers me, I know that I have much less chance of pain with him than with anyone else. I roll onto my back and push myself into a sitting position against the wall by the time he reaches the bottom of the stairs. He has shut the door behind him, so he speaks, "_Lumos," _and the familiar blue glow fills the room.

"They told me to bring you water." He says, no longer whispering. He holds out an onyx cup. He kneels down and holds the cup to my mouth, tipping it up so the liquid touches my lips. I gulp down the cool water eagerly. I feel refreshed.

"How is your wound?" he asks, his tone now hushed.

I look at him.

"Don't, please."

He shoots me a questioning look.

"Don't try to win my answers with kindness. It's not going to work, and it's just going to get us both killed. It's pointless to try to earn my trust anyway…you lost that chance years ago." I spit these words at him, the anger I have been holding back rising hotly in my chest.

He stares silently at me for a moment. Then he leans forward and reaches behind me before I can react and unties my hands, throwing the ropes aside when he's finished.

"What are you – why are you doing this?"

He looks at me, his eyes oddly darkened.

"Because…" he breathes a short, tired sigh, 'because I hate everything that I live for. I hate what they make me do. Right now, I have nothing - _nothing_ left to live for...so if I'm to be forced to live for His cause for the rest of my life…then I'd rather die now - fighting for yours."

I have nothing to say to this. For some reason I feel less angry, and while I want to argue, I see the honest pain in his eyes, that dark despair; and I remember the look that was etched on his face when he was forced to torture me in front of his father. And in this moment, I trust him. I believe him. I am shocked that I admit it, but I do. I believe him.

"Thank you…" is all I can think to say, as I rub my wrists, which have both been chaffed raw.

He does not respond; unsure how to respond to the phrase that I'm sure is unfamiliar to him.

"So, is it healed?" he motions again to my chest. I place one hand over it and nod.

"Yes…thank you…"

Once again he shifts uncomfortably.

"You should finish the water. I don't know when they'll let you drink again."

I take the cup from him and savor the feeling of the water running down my parched throat. After I give back the now empty cup, I drop my head into my hands, tired of its constant throbbing. I hope the water will ease the pain.

I start feeling very strange; I feel as if my whole body is tingling, and when I look up, my vision seems to lag. Draco's face blurrs, and I try blinking to clear the image.

"What…what's going on? Why…" my words are slurred. Draco looks at me with something resembling pity, and reaches out to catch me as I collapse, dead asleep in his arms.

**Well, I enjoyed writing this one :) **

**Thank you so much for your reviews so far! And keep reading – chapter 6 will be up later today! **


	6. Certain Shadowy Truths

**Sorry this is getting up later than I expected...But this is when it starts getting good, so keep reading! (And reviewing ;) ) **

He must have given me some kind of sleeping draught in my water. The sleep I fall into is deep and silent, and it would seem nothing can bring me out of it. Once, however, I become dimly aware of voices around me, though I cannot open my eyes.

"Why isn't she waking up?"

"This is not a natural sleep…someone in her condition would wake immediately."

I feel cold fingers grab my face and lift one of my eyelids. It is very strange that I cannot wake up; but I am grateful nonetheless.

"She has taken a sleeping potion. Someone…has _given it to her!_ And look! Look at her wounds!"

"They're closing…"

"Yes. Oh, he has gone too far. There will be no excuses, no explanations…"

The voices grow fainter and fainter, echoing in my mind like something in a dream. Then once again I am swallowed in the silent calm of my potion-induced sleep.

This time it is the screams that wake me. They tear into my dreams and pull me violently from my sleep. I sit up quickly, my heart racing. The screams stop for a moment, and I hear a raised voice – Voldemort's voice. A horrible feeling rises in my throat, and my chest tightens. _Draco…_

I scramble clumsily up the stairs to listen through the door.

"Have you come to _care_ for the creature, Draco? Do you want to save her from me? But, oh Draco, you seem to have lost your focus! Or perhaps you grow tired of my cause?"

Suddenly a harsh yell rends the air, and my breath catches in my throat.

"Do you wish to abandon your position? Is that your…_desire_? Or is she what you long for? Ah, well I can give you what you wish for, Draco. All you need do is ask…and you shall receive!"

I hear the sound of a dull blow that turns my stomach, then the sound of Draco's body hitting the floor. Then I hear a low moan that slowly rises to an agonizing cry that shakes me to my very core. I stumble back and nearly fall, but catch myself against the wall. I am breathing very quickly, and my vision blurs again. I walk back down the stairs, and back into the far corner of the room, sliding down to a sitting position. I draw my knees close to my chest and bury my face in them, sobbing. I am crying for so many reasons. I clamp my hands over my ears, trying to block out that horrible sound. Finally, it ends, and all I hear is silence.

The door flies opens so quickly that it hits the wall behind it. I lean forward, straining to see. I hear someone hiss, then a groan, and I suddenly see Draco's body crashing down the stairs. When he slams against the ground at the foot of the stairs, I hear a sickening crunch, and he howls in pain for a brief second, then falls completely silent and is no longer moving. For a moment, I cannot move. I feel rooted to the ground, though all I want to do is rush to him and find out if he is still alive, but all I can think about is how horrible it would be if I go to him and he's gone. I take a breath and force myself to move.

"_Draco?..." _ I whisper, and hear nothing.

I run the rest of the way and drop to my knees by his side. I watch his chest…it's still moving, but barely. His breathing is so shallow. I look over him, trying to find what broke. I place my hand on his right shoulder to move his arm, and his eyes fly open. He gasps and cries out. I pull my hand back from him.

"_Don't..don't touch me! My shoulder…_Aahh!" he has reached over to hold his own shoulder, and looks again as if he is about to pass out.

"It's…it's…dislocated. Here…help me…" he holds out his hand and motions for me to give him mine. Hesitantly I hold mine out. He takes me by the wrist and places my hand on the edge of his shoulder. Then he rolls halfway away from me, so his shoulder is hovering about the ground. By now he is nearly hyperventillating.

"When I say…go…push…push down…hard…"

"Draco, I – " I am very uncertain that I can achieve what he wants.

"_Just do it!"_ he gasps desperately.

"Ok, ok!"

He clenches his fist and closes his eyes. He takes three quick deep breaths, then,

"_Go!"_

I shove all my weight onto his shoulder, there's a horrible, nauseating pop; Draco lets out a strange sob, then goes limp once more; completely unconscious. I cover my mouth with my hands, trying to swallow back the lump in my throat. Then I notice that my hands are covered in blood…and so is Draco. There is so much of it covering him that I cannot find where it's coming from. I lean over him and call out his name, trying to get him to come to. Then I shake him, and when this doesn't work, I shake him roughly. Slowly, his eyes open. When his breathing quickens, he starts shaking as if suddenly cold.

"Draco…where is all this blood coming from?" my voice is tremulous, and I clear my throat, trying to steady it.

He pushes himself up against the wall. Then he looks down and sees the blood. Then he sighs.

"It's my arm." He moves his left arm toward me. Now I see the blood dripping through his sleeve. I notice how pale he looks – paler than usual, even.

"You're losing too much blood. Here." I take his arm, and pull back his sleeve. I gasp when I see the wound. It is as if an entire piece of his skin has been torn off.

"What happened?" I ask, as I rip off a section of my own sleeve and begin wrapping it tightly around his wrist.

"I've been 'removed from service' under the Dark Lord. So, he removed my Mark." He hissed through his teeth as I cinch the piece of cloth into a secure knot.

"And good riddance. I hated the sight of it…a constant reminder of…" his sentence trails off, and suddenly I notice Draco's eyes start to close, and he slumps to the side. I catch him before he falls, and shake him.

"No, don't close your eyes!" When I think about it, I realize there is no danger in allowing him to pass out, but the thought of being left in silence with a bleeding, unconscious person leaves me feeling frightened. So I keep him with me.

**Well, hopefully you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :) Now, chapter 7 is still under maintenance, so it might be a day or two before I get a chance to put it up...but again, worry not! It will be worth the wait, trust me :)**


	7. Together We Become The Captives

"You've lost too much blood…if only I'd kept that medicine you gave me…" I look at him apologetically.

He shakes his head as if to tell me not to worry about it.

But how can I not? I feel horribly guilty…I feel responsible for everything he's just been through. If I had refused the medicine, and if I had stuck to my wits and kept myself from trusting him with the water, he would have had no reason to be suspected. I am familiar with at least some of the pain he is in, and I would not wish it on anyone, not even my enemy. And now I've come back to that inner battle I have been fighting for the past few days, ever since Draco showed up alone in this cellar for the first time: Is Draco Malfoy - the boy who hated me, the boy – the _Death Eater_ - who nearly killed the greatest and kindest wizard of our time - still my enemy? I am so tired of questioning this. I already made the decision to trust him; I just wish I could stick to it. So I make my final decision. I will no longer look upon Draco Malfoy as my enemy. At least not directly.

His voice breaks into my thoughts.

"Why the face?"

I realize I've been scowling in concentration. I lift my eyebrows and laugh without smiling.

"Sorry. Thinking."

"Of course…" He shakes his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"What?" I feel defensive.

"Nothing…just, for a moment I had forgotten who I was talking to." He still looks at me with that just-beneath-the-surface grin.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" I cross my arms and stare him down, daring him to say what's on his mind.

"Oh, come on. Miss Know-it-all Granger? Thinking? Never!" the smile finally shows itself on his face. But I'm infuriated. I turn away and move to stand, but he grabs my wrist, pulling me back around to face him.

"Wait, I-" he starts off. But, glaring furiously, I rip my arm away from him. He holds up his hands in defensive surrender. His smile is faded, but still there.

"I'm sorry, alright? Just trying to…lighten the mood." He bites back his smile, finally, and lowers his hands. For a split second, I can't help but think how attractive he was with a smile on his face. I quickly push away the thought.

"Look, I really didn't mean to offend you. I'm sorry, please, just forget it."

I don't say anything, but, in a silent huff, I sit down against the wall beside him. An uncomfortable silence passes, in which I know I should say something, but absolutely nothing is coming to mind. I'm horrified that I can't stop thinking about how surprisingly handsome he had looked just now, despite the blood, and the cruel joke. But I'm being ridiculous, thinking about something so juvenile, especially here and now. I draw my knees up under my chin and rest my head on them, turned away from Draco. I'm afraid of what he'll see in my face if I look at him now. I hear him shifting his position beside me, and a moment later, I am hit with a wave of that musty, sweet scent that I had smelled on his shirt on that first night when he had held me close to him…I had felt so secure in his arms…so safe…

Without warning I jump to my feet and walk to the opposite side of the room. Draco looks up at me questioningly. I just want to clear my head, I can't think straight when I'm so close to him. I'm frustrated, angry, and completely, _completely_ confused. I start pacing. Draco silently watches me, not asking any questions. I am thankful for this. After a minute or two, I stop in the middle of the cellar and turn abruptly on Draco.

"Why?" my voice sounds harsh, and it's thick with emotion. I try desperately to hide it.

"Wait, what?" Draco stares at me like I've gone mad.

"Why did you start helping me?"

"I…already told you, I-" he speaks slowly, looking sideways at me, but I cut him off, not interested in hearing repeated explanations.

"No, not that – why did you go so far? Since when do you start _risking your life for me?" _my voice is rising, and despite my efforts, my eyes start to fill with tears.

Draco blinks once, his face now very sober. When he speaks, his voice is very low, and I think for a moment that I hear his voice crack.

"Because…I couldn't bear to just stand by. I couldn't just stand by and do nothing while they came in here and…" Up to this point he has been looking me in the eye, but he clenches his jaw and turns his head away.

But I'm not done, I'm still angry – even though I am not completely sure why.

"But that's _not fair!_ You shouldn't - you can't just- Look, I've learned how to survive! I would have been fine - and they can't even kill me because they _need_ me, to answer their questions! But you – they _can _kill you…and now because you risked your stupid neck for me, you've gotten yourself thrown down here and because of what's happened - because of who they are - they're going to kill you, and I'm going to have to watch you die, and _I can't do that_! _I can't…I-I can't watch you…_" my words spill out in a nearly incomprehensable stream. By the end, I dissolve into sobs, unable to finish my tirade.

I don't even realize that I'm falling to my knees until I feel for the second time Draco's arms close around me, holding me up. But this time I return the embrace, wrapping my arms around him and burying my face into his chest. My body is shaking as I sob freely, the sound muffled in his shirt. But he holds me close, and I know he is not going to let go until I'm ready. Slowly, my breathing returns to normal. But tears still spill from my eyes as I lean back to look up at Draco.

"Well…" he breathes, looking uncertain as to how he should respond to my outburst. In the awkward silence that follows, I begin to feel extremely embarassed – how could I have let myself lose control like this? I push myself away from him, breaking his hold on me. Running my hands over my face, I angrily wipe away these stupid, foolish tears. They are the tears of a girl who has clearly forgotten the rules of war.

"I…I'm sorry. For-" my throat catches on a sob, and, cursing these tears, I take a steadying breath and continue, "forget what I said, I don't…I don't know _what_ came over me."

I lean back against the wall and look up at the ceiling, examining the hundreds of jagged cracks that zig-zag through the decaying rock.

"Hermione…" I hear him move toward me, but I do not engage him with my eyes – I keep them locked onto the ceiling. I imagine for a moment that I see the shape of a dragon in the cracks there…and I think about that day Harry and Ron and I escaped Gringotts on the back of that batty old blind dragon…

Suddenly I feel his hand on mine and I'm snapped instantly back to the present. I look down at his fingers touching mine and then up at his eyes, my brow furrowed into a somewhat hesitant glare.

But when I see that look in his face, I feel a pang of guilt for my sudden – and what to him must be unwarranted – change of tone.

"Hermione, can't you understand now-"

"_Understand what, exactly, Draco?" _I rudely cut him off, my voice shrill. Part of me wants to stop myself from reacting this way, but I have dug myself far too deep into this pit of emotion I've created. I've also been down in this dungeon for too long. Alone. Much too long.

"Can't you understand now," his voice is low and steady, but his smoky eyes are brimming with tears, "why I risk my life for you?"

"And why is it that _now_ I would understand? What's the difference? I didn't understand before, I don't understand now. _Nothing has changed_._"_

"Because what you just said, what you told me to forget, is exactly what I go through every day – what I've _gone_ through, every day since you've come here. And it's killing me."

Now it is my turn to be silent, to be at a loss for words. And I feel in that one moment as if my world has been stopped. Slowly, stupidly, in my mind I begin to work out the meaning behind this final statement.

He's said it before - or, rather, implied it. I remember. But I turned a deaf ear, refusing to believe it. Now, it's different. Things _have _changed...

Before, I did not trust him. Indeed, I _couldn't_ trust him. I was his captive. He was my captor. Mudblood and Pure-Blood. The lines had been drawn; not to be crossed.

Now, on a new level we are made equals.

Together we are the captives.

This changes everything.

**Ok, now this was quite honestly my favorite chapter so far to write. Ugh - they're so close! But more must take place before the end...Chapter 8 coming soon! **


	8. A Preview of Chapter 8

**I know, I know, it's been FAR too long since I said I'd be posting chapter eight...but it's proving a difficult one, so I decided I'd give you a short preview of it now, so nobody gets too impatient ;P So, enjoy!...**

I suddenly become aware that my gaze has been locked onto Draco for quite some time now. He's looking back at me, a bit disquieted, and I realize that I should probably say something. But once again, I have no idea what to say. So, I say the first thing that comes to mind.

"I do." As soon as the words leave my lips I know that they don't apply to our previous conversation in any way. I do my best to recover by following it with,

"I understand…" I pause, not wanting to embarrass myself any further.

Draco looks at me from where he stands against the wall, and sighs softly, relief easing its way across his tensed features.

Now, there is only one thing left for me to say to him...

"Thank you."

I say this so quietly, and am so deliriously exhausted, I don't even notice that he hasn't heard me.

In fact, when I do look at him, I barely have time to note how pale he's become before I see him crumple to the ground, as suddenly as if a giant hand had pressed down on him.

With a gasp, I rush forward and fall to my knees at his side. He is breathing, but it is very shallow. I consider trying to rouse him, but I know that whatever I try will most likely be utterly useless. The rag I tied around his wounded wrist is completely soaked through with his blood. I feel a rise of panic in my chest as I begin to wonder if I am, at this moment, watching him die.

This panic grips my heart so violently that breathing suddenly feels like an impossible task. I refuse to let him die. I have watched life leave the eyes of far too many friends and loved ones. I simply could not survive the loss of another. Desperate, I lean over him and feel his pulse, check his breathing, trying to convince myself he'll be ok. After a moment of this, I'm satisfied that he's stable. I refresh the bandage on his arm, shuddering as I throw the blood-soaked rag aside.

"_Damn this war."_ I hiss into the still blackness that is our cursed prison cell. My voice breaks pitifully as I choke back a desperate sob.

For the first time since I have come here, I feel myself begin to cry freely, just in this moment no longer caring about honor or pride or cleverness or courage. I am dissolving into the little that remains of who I was before the war. And as I give into all of this, I can think of nothing else to do but lie down by Draco's still, sleeping body, and allow myself to slip into a silent sleep.

I open my eyes. Having become nearly impervious to the constant aching in my head and my bones, I blink my eyes forcefully to clear the drowziness. The first thing I see once my head has cleared are his eyes. Grey. Glinting in the half-light. Grieving.

He is now sitting against the wall, and my head is resting - rather comfortably, I'm surprised – in his lap. I am still bleary enough that all that's been troubling me stays at rest, far back in my mind. Slowly, I shift over so I am parallel to his position. Then I turn to examine him,

"Feeling better?" I ask.

"I'm alive." He says huskily.

I close my eyes and nod, not arguing with the powerful relief that fills my heart, knowing this is true.

"And so are you, I see," he says, placing a hesitant finger along the gash that lines my jaw. I wince, and reach up to grip his hand, stopping him from touching the painful cut. I then busy myself examining the horrid, gaping wound on his arm.

Now it is his turn to stop me. He grabs my wrists and waits for me to look up at him. After several seconds' stubborn hesitation, I oblige. Again I find myself face to face with that earnest, pleading gaze as he says softly, "Let me protect you."

**So there you go - just a taste! But the rest is almost ready, so I'll be posting it within the next few days - PROMISE! :)**


	9. Ultimatum

**Here it is! So sorry it's taken me so long, and I know it's short...but I had a _scathing_ case of Writer's Block...ugh. But anyway, here you are, chapter 8 - hope you enjoy! :)**

This changes everything.

I suddenly become aware that my gaze has been locked onto Draco for quite some time now. He's looking back at me, a bit disquieted, and I realize that I should probably say something. But once again, I have no idea what to say. So, I say the first thing that comes to mind.

"I do.."

As soon as the words leave my lips I know that they don't apply to our previous conversation in any way. I do my best to recover by following it with,

"I understand…"

I pause, not wanting to embarrass myself any further.

Draco looks at me from where he stands against the wall, and sighs softly, relief easing its way across his tensed features.

Now, there is only one thing left for me to say to him:

"Thank you."

I say this so quietly, and am so deliriously exhausted, I don't even notice that he hasn't heard me.

In fact, when I do look at him, I barely have time to note how pale he's become, before I see him crumple to the ground, as suddenly as if a giant hand had pressed down on him.

With a gasp, I rush forward and fall to my knees at his side. He is breathing, but it is very shallow. I consider trying to rouse him, but I know that whatever I try will most likely be utterly useless. The rag I tied around his wounded wrist is completely soaked through with his blood. I feel a rise of panic in my chest as I begin to wonder if I am, at this moment, watching him die.

This panic grips my heart so violently that breathing suddenly becomes an impossible task. I refuse to let him die. I have watched life leave the eyes of far too many friends and loved ones. I simply could not survive the loss of another. Desperate, I lean over him and feel his pulse, check his breathing, trying to convince myself he'll be ok. After a moment of this, I'm satisfied that he's stable. I refresh the bandage on his arm, shuddering as I throw the blood-soaked rag aside.

"_Damn this war."_ I hiss into the still blackness that is our cursed prison cell. My voice breaks pitifully as I choke back a desperate sob.

For the first time since I have come here, I feel myself begin to cry freely, just in this moment no longer caring about honor or pride or cleverness or courage. I am dissolving into the little that remains of who I was before the war. And as I give into all of this, I can think of nothing else to do but lie down by Draco's still, sleeping body, and allow myself to slip into a silent sleep.

I open my eyes. Having become nearly impervious to the constant aching in my head and my bones, I blink my eyes forcefully to clear the drowziness. The first thing I see once my head has cleared are his eyes. Grey. Glinting in the half-light. Grieving.

He is now sitting against the wall, and my head is resting - rather comfortably, I'm surprised – in his lap. I am still bleary enough that all that's been troubling me stays at rest, far back in my mind. Slowly, I shift over so I am parallel to his position. Then I turn to examine him,

"Feeling better?" I ask.

"I'm alive." He says huskily.

I close my eyes and nod, not arguing with the powerful relief that fills my heart, knowing this is true.

"And so are you, I see," he says, placing a hesitant finger along the gash that lines my jaw. I wince, and reach up to grip his hand, stopping him from touching the painful cut. I then busy myself examining the horrid, gaping wound on his arm.

Now it is his turn to stop me. He grabs my wrists and waits for me to look up at him. After several seconds' stubborn hesitation, I oblige. Again I find myself face to face with that earnest, pleading gaze.

"Let me protect you."

I'm surprised at how strong his grip is, despite his loss of blood.  
"Draco..I….Fine. Alright. Just…." I look up at him sternly, mirroring his pleading expression with my own. "_Don't_ make me watch you die. If you do…" I swallow hard, trying to contain my emotions. "If you do…"

Before I'm able to finish my thought, we both hear the familiar sound of the door opening at the top of the stairs, and that warm yellow light spills over us.

Moving quickly, Draco shifts onto his knees, pushing himself up against the wall to stand defensively in front of me. His back is ram-rod straight, but I can see a slight tremor in his hands, which are clenched into fists by his sides.

Lucius reaches the foot of the staircase, and fixes us with a cold stare, his lip curling. He pulls out his wand and steps toward us, his expression menacing.

"So, Draco…How are you enjoying your new…" he looks around him with an ugly smirk on his face "…accommodations?

Draco glares at his father, saying nothing as he reaches for his wand - having forgotten it had been taken from him. Lucius sees this, and laughs, patting one of the inner pockets of his robes where, I assume, Draco's wand rests.

"Ah, you see, boy? You forget how powerless you now are – you've chosen your side…and it is the _weaker_ side. Now…" Lucius lowers his wand level to Draco's chest. "Move aside. I wish to speak with your little _pet_." His face twists into a disgusted grimace as he spits these words at his son.

The silence that follows this command is chilling. I look from Draco to Lucius, trembling uncontrollably. Suddenly, Lucius flicks his wand at Draco, hissing, "_Deprimo!_"

Draco is thrown violently to the side. He lands flat on his back on the ground, and looks to be unable to lift himself up. I hear him gasping, struggling to draw a breath. Looking back at Lucius, I find myself now facing the point of his wand. As I wasn't expecting this, my breath catches in my chest and I scramble to my feet, backing away.

"So…have you been forming an attachment with poor Draco these past few days, Mudblood?" his voice is like poison, and a muscle involuntarily twitches in his upper lip. I stay silent, using every ounce of self control not to look over at Draco – I still hear him struggling to escape the pressure-spell.

"Well, it is too bad that I cannot allow him to stay with you any longer…but the Dark Lord believes we still may have use for him…" he sneers, his cold eyes glinting madly as he glances down at Draco. "I will admit it is against my better judgement…seeing as the fool has shown himself to be a vile traitor!" these last words spill from his mouth in a spray of hatred and he storms over to Draco and aims a harsh kick to his side. A pained moan escapes Draco, and with another flick of his wand, Lucius reverses the spell. He reaches down and grabs the front of Draco's shirt, twisting it into his grip and roughly hoisting Draco to his feet. He clamps his other hand around his son's throat, leering at him, his voice low when he speaks.

"You are to be given another chance, Draco…the Dark Lord is showing you a rare act of mercy. And know this, _boy_ – if you choose to make the same mistakes yet again…" Lucius looks back at me from the corner of his eye, and Draco follows his gaze, his eyes locking with mine. "…_she will die._"

Lucius tightens his grip on Draco's throat. "Is that clear?"

Nodding forcefully, Draco agrees, his eyes slightly widened with fear as he pulls at his father's hold on his neck. After a lingering moment, Lucius releases him, but simultaneously reaches down and snatches up Draco's left arm, saying,

"Excellent. Now, we cannot have you in such a state upstairs amongst us…"

He raises his wand, and looks down at Draco's wrist, stopping short when he sees my makeshift bandages. Slowly, he turns his gaze onto me, looking oddly amused, his icey blue eyes leering.

"Oh, you clever little Mudblood…"

With a flick of his wand, he looses the wrapings, which fall to the ground in a pitiful bloody mess, and with several muttered words, he casts a light healing spell on the ugly wound, causing a faint pink scar tissue to form over top of the once festering, exposed skin. Lucius releases his son's arm and steps back.

"Come now, Draco." The menace in his tone sends a chill down my back. I keep my eyes on Draco, waiting to see what he might do.

He does nothing. He does not look at me.

He does not speak.

He simply steps in line behind his father, his stormy grey eyes looking almost dead…lifeless.

I feel myself grow numb as I face the prospect of being alone once more in my captivity – of having that damned door once again drawing the line between him and me, separating us, re-awakening the rules of blood and status. I watch him folow his father to the stairs with a certain level of detatchment. And I harldy even flinch as Lucius turns his wand on me.

"_Stupefy."_

I hear a hoarse cry - which may or may not have been my own - I see an explosion of light, followed by a vast darknesss that is nearly tangible in its blackness.

Then, nothing.


	10. Dreams and Nightmares

**And here it is! Sorry once again for the wait (writer's block is vile and stupid and always stays past its welcome), but I hope you enjoy. Please review! :) **

In the darkness I am hurtled into a sub-conscious state in which my worst nightmares unfold before my eyes. I am forced to watch everyone I've lost die over and over again, and those who still live are killed at my feet, and I am helpless to stop them. I see the Order murdered in their beds, and in this horrible dream I think I'm now trapped forever, with truly no hope of escape. Then I see Draco…the Dark Lord stands over him…I see a flash of brilliant green light –

Screaming, I wake up, my fingernails digging into my sweaty palms, my heart beating fit to burst within my chest. My eyes dart around, taking in the familiar surroundings of the cellar, and slowly my mind catches up to the realization that nothing I just witnessed was real. It was all a dream; a terrible nightmare which I know will haunt me for weeks.

I draw my knees up to my chest, shivering. Now all I can think about is the possibility that the Order is gone…that I'm now without hope of escape. I play the nightmare over in my head, torturing myself, unable to stop thinking about it.

_What if? _

My mind screams the question repeatedly. It's as if that one dream opened up a flood of doubts that I've been ignoring and blocking from my thoughts over the past few weeks of my imprisonment.

The hours and days - I lose track of how many - pass slowly. I feel Draco's absence more than I'd care to admit to myself, and I spend most of my days and nights waiting for some sign or sound of him. But nothing comes. I do my very best not to grow bitter, but patience is a hard thing to produce in a place like this, alone in the dark.

Every day, as usual, around what must be late afternoon, a Death Eater I do not recognize delivers my usual mid-day meal…if it can be called that. Fortunately he never says anything to me, so his short visits lasts without incident. The tray he brings only ever contains one loaf of bread, half of which is typically covered in mold, a dry chicken leg - once, it had a rather large bite already taken out of it - and cup of water. Because I know I must, I force myself to subdue my gag reflex, and with a sigh, dig in to the pitiful meal before me.

One afternoon, long after I've placed the tray at the top of the stairs and the Death Eater came to remove it, the door opens again, and before I can even think of looking to see if Draco is there, Bellatrix alone skips down the steps, her muddied black robes rustling noisily as she approaches.

I don't bother to stand, but sit in my place against the wall, watching her with no visual emotional reaction, though inside I feel nothing but fear.

She pulls her wand from the belts on her dress, and with a flourish, she commands me to my feet with a silently cast Imperius. Sadly, my mind and body are too weak to resist the curse, and so – feeling strangley numb – I obey, shakily rising to stand before her.

When I do so, she bounces on her toes, giddily clapping her hands as if pleased with herself. Now she folds her hands under her chin, pushing out her bottom lip in an exaggerated expression of patronizing pity.

"Oh, do you _miss_ him? Your dear 'protector'? Your 'savior'? Hm, sweetie? Yes?"

I am strongly resisting the urge to spit in her face, for, as she speaks she reaches out and runs her vile finger down the side of my face. But the next second, she has drawn back her hand, and strikes me across the face with such stinging force that I fall against the wall, my head spinning.

With a soft, malicious hiss, she spits at me and shoves me the rest of the way to the ground with her foot.

"You silly, foolish girl!" Her almost childish glee has dissipated, and she leers down at me, her wand still drawn. "We all are so tired of waiting for you to break…the Dark Lord himself – as you know – has come." Here, she takes a deep, shuddering breath, and her lips twitch up into a hideous, insane smile. She continues.

"And that is why I've come down to visit you today, dear…He wishes to..have words with you."

In one quick, snapping motion, she snatches me by my hair, dragging me towards the stairs. I let out a weak cry as pain sears through my scalp, and I reach up, scratching uselessly at her hand. Bent in an awkward position due to her grip on my hair, I shuffle my feet, doing my best to follow close.

Being imprisoned in a tiny, darkened room for…however long it's been…has done quite a number on my endurance; already my heart is pounding raucously in my ears, and my breath is ragged as I try to match her pace as she continues pulling me along down several dimly lit, excessively grandiose corridors.

Finally she stops. We stand before a large, black, gilded set of doors, which I recognize as the opposite side of the doors I came through after passing through the large Malfoy dining hall on the day I first arrived.

Bellatrix steers me around to stand in front of her. She flicks her wand, and the doors open slowly, their hinges creaking ominously. With another twitch of her wand, she once again forces me to walk forward. I feel that familiar, numbing, oddly warm sensation as my feet begin to carry me into the dining hall against my will.

I do not doubt that my terror is evident on my face, but I make my most valiant of efforts to hide it. I cannot allow my honor to be stripped away, so I clench my jaw and straighten my back in an expression of defiance.

I can still hear Bellatrix behind me, muttering to herself words that I cannot hear over the wild pounding of my heart in my ears.

At the end of the long, marble dining table, I see a dark figure sitting. And I can amost feel my heart stop as I immediately know who this is. It's him. Voldemort.

Slowly, he stands.

"Ah…"

That horrid voice turns my blood cold. He steps around the edge of the table, his slow, fluid movements too reminiscient of a dementor's.

"Thank you, Bellatrix." He moves his gaze onto her, and I can hear her breath catch, and with a soft rustling of her robes, she backs away into the shadows, bowing her head in a disgusting display of reverence.

Now, I can sense his eyes upon me, and I feel suddenly sick. But, thinking of Harry, I force myself to raise my own eyes from the floor beneath us to meet his chilling stare. I will show him that I plan on putting up a fight; he will see that I am not someone so easily broken – not even by the Dark Lord himself.

By now he stands not five feet from me. My mind is racing so fast that my thoughts have become the equivalent of a white noise. If only I could manage to call upon my infamous 'cleverness' now…but without my wand, I am completely useless, defenseless, exposed.

"So…I have been hearing tales of your persistent silence in the face of our questions." He pauses, a horrifying smile creeping onto his face. He spreads his arms wide, his wand held loosely in his grasp.

"I…am here to change that. You see, There comes a time when one must come to the conclusion that things will simply remain undone, unless one steps in and takes control of the situation for themselves."

When, after this short speech, he looks hatefully toward the shadows where Bellatrix is hiding, I cannot help but be convinced that that statement had been more for her than for me. And when I hear a small, pitiful whimper carry out of the shadows, I am sure of it. I feel a slight twinge of satisfaction at this, knowing I've caused the terrible Bellatrix Lestrange trouble from the Dark Lord.

"Now, as for your fate today….today, I only wished to meet you face to face…for us to…get acquainted. I shall let you sit alone in darkness for a few more days, to give you time to consider your options – as I am sure you are well aware of them." He points a pale, spider-like hand at his chest,

"I can be a merciful Lord; you should be grateful to me! But…" he pauses again, his red eyes burning. "…this will be my only act of mercy toward you, so do not squander it."

He motions to Bellatrix, running his snake-like tongue over his deathly pale lips as he stares down at me.

Inwardly, I am nearly crumbling under a mixture of fear, hatred, and a rush of relief. As Bellatrix grabs the back of my neck and guides me forcefully from the hall, I feel numb again, but this time not from an Imperius.

We pass briskly through the same darkened corridors. Bellatrix is surprising me with her silence.

For some reason, this walk back feels longer than the journey to the dining hall had seemed. I suppose it's because, at this point, I fear being 'alone in darkness' much more than I fear being face to face with Voldemort. Growing up with Harry Potter as my best friend has something to do with this, I'm sure.

As we walk, I begin hearing voices – raised voices. They're coming from behind a closed door somewhere up ahead. The tones grow more and more violent, but I can't make out the words. I think for a moment that I recognize Draco's voice and I must bite my tongue to keep from calling out to him.

Suddenly I hear a dull, cracking sound, followed by a hoarse yell, then a cruel, bitter laugh. More raised voices follow as well, but only for a brief moment. The next instant a door merely yards ahead of us flies open, and someone steps out, slamming the door shut behind them.

My breath catches in my chest as I recognize him. Draco. We draw nearer to him, but he hasn't yet seen us. Bellatrix presses the tip of her wand into my back: a silent warning to say nothing and keep moving.

Now I can see him better - he is slightly hunched over, and the side of his face is bleeding and swollen, freshly bruised. Finally, he turns his head and sees us. His face blanches at the sight of me. I try to read his expression, but it's nearly impossible, particularly amidst all the blood.

I inwardly battle the impulse to rush over to him, to find that wonderful feeling of safety in his arms.

Now we are passing by him – he and I are so close to each other, his scent fills my senses and I am reminded once again of home, and an almost forgotten feeling of comfort. Suddenly, I feel the tips of his fingers brush across my knuckles as I pass by, and a strengthening warmth runs up my arm, spreading throughout the rest of me. For the briefest moment I catch his eye…

But now the moment is past, and he is behind us.

I hear the sound of his footfalls echoing softly down the hall, mingling with the sounds of my own. I try hard not to linger on the thought of his absence, but focus instead on holding onto that warmth that still pulses through me. To my own surprise, I smile, and I am glad that Bellatrix is behind me and cannot see.

All the way back to the cellar she hurls taunts and insults, crooning at me in her maddening voice. But I tune her out, thinking of Draco's promise to protect me, and drawing upon that for my hope.

It isn't much, but even now, as I once more find myself alone in the darkness, it is enough.


	11. Hope

As promised, I am left alone – for several days. The only means I have to keep track of time is the regularity of my afternoon meals. By now I am sure that my stomach is smaller than it has ever been, but I've become used to the pangs of hunger. It distracts from all the other pain I feel – be it physical, or emotional.

After what I count to be three days, I receive a surprise visit. I didn't hear the door open or close, but suddenly I feel a hand tighten on my shoulder. I whirl around, my heart pounding, ready to face Lucius, or Bellatrix…or worse…

But instead I see Draco's face before me, his finger pressed over his lips to keep me silent. As I take in the welcome sight of his presence, I notice that the wound on the side of his face has not healed well. I say nothing and wait for him to speak, my heart racing wildly in the silence.

"I only have a moment," he breathes, throwing an anxious glance over his shoulder at the door, listening and watching for any sign of someone following him. "They don't allow me to see you - I'm not supposed to be here…but I had to tell you this in person."

He inches closer to me and grasps my other shoulder. A strange feeling grips me as I anticipate what he could be here to say, what might be so important that he would risk coming here to talk to me, but I nod for him to continue.

"I may have found a way to get you out of here. It's not the most brilliant plan, but…I'm working on it."

At his words, my mind feels as if it's gone blank. Every fiber in my being is longing to believe him, but I don't know whether to be thrilled, or terrified.

I can't believe it…

I open my mouth to question him, to protest, but he shakes his head firmly and presses on.

"Don't – there isn't time for questions. I wanted to give you hope…you're going to need it, for what's coming. But please know…it isn't a false hope…I am _going _to get you out of here. I _swear _it."

He looks at me with those grey eyes – the windows to a soul which, at this moment, I don't know if I'll ever understand. He slides his hands down from my shoulders and brings them to rest over my hands. I don't know what to say…I do feel hope, I admit it – more than I have felt in months…and I hope to God it isn't false. As I try to think of the right words, suddenly I find that his face is very close to mine. He is looking into my eyes with an odd expression, his face etched with despair. His voice is slightly rough as he whispers to me, and I can feel the warmth of his breath on my skin.

"I…don't know when I will see you again…"

Then, he kisses me.

His lips press softly against mine for the briefest of moments, but in my mind it lasts an eternity. After I clumsily recover from the initial shock, I feel a warmth even stronger than what I felt from his brief touch in the hall the other day returning, rushing through me.

Suddenly I find myself returning the kiss.

Just as I do, he pulls away.

I gasp quietly when he does, my mind and body reeling from what has just happened. My eyes still locked onto his, I hear him say something, but his voice sounds as if it's coming from a long way off.

"I will send word to you when it's time."

As he says this, his hands slip away from mine and without another word, he is gone.

Again, I am alone.

But I'm strangely happy.

And…

I have hope.

**Ahhh, finally ;) I know it's super short, but I didn't want to add anything else to it - I thought it better to leave it short, and sweet :) But the next chapter is already en route, so hold on tight, because things are about to get extremely angsty, very quickly ;D**


	12. Authors Note

**Hello everyone – This is not a new chapter, but an author's note, so that I can tell you that in a tragic turn of events, chapter 11 was completely erased before I could post it. All progress – gone. Excuse me while I fail at containing my fury. I hate my laptop with a passion right now…**

**So now I am off to do my best to rewrite the chapter and get it to you as soon as I can…thank you for being patient, and again for all your wonderful reviews! I appreciate them all so much!**

**Lots of love ;)**

**-MirrorAuror**


	13. As Promised

**Here it is! I hope you enjoy it :) **

After he's gone, the feeling of his lips on mine lingers, like a wonderful, surreal dream that slips further and further away as you slowly wake from it. His words of promise and hope echo in my mind. I feel like I'm drowning in the goodness of these last few minutes – as if it all was too much good news for me to handle. I don't know what to make of any of it. I feel the hope growing from that seed he's planted in my mind. It pulses and throbs, warming up to the beating of my heart and spreading through my veins until I become one with it: full of a foolish hope that has no certainty, but that I find irresistable.

And yet, in the midst of all of this, there is one shard of darkness that haunts me.

Something Draco had said…

"…_you're going to need it…for what's coming…"_

I try to push this away, to savor this moment of blissful ignorance…

"_you're going to need it…"_

I reach out with the desperate edges of my subconscious to hold onto the hope that has been wholly mine for the past few moments…

"_for what's coming…"_

But I simply cannot shake that warning. I had known that something was coming, that the Dark Lord had marked me, but part of me has been stupidly hoping that perhaps I've been forgotten down here, that the Dark Lord has gone off to wreak havoc on some other innocent souls.

Those words from Draco, however, have silenced those doubts. Voldemort is coming. And I have to be ready.

Two more silent days pass, during which I summon all of my emotional and mental energy to bank on the promise he gave me: _he's found a way out, and he's going to set me free. Somehow…_

Being able to hold onto the hope of that promise will, as Draco said, give me something to live for in the midst of whatever is coming.

Another hope has been growing – the hope that Draco will complete his plan and come for me before Voldemort decides to have his way with me. This particular hope, much to my dismay, turns out to be for nothing.

I feel his presence before he's even entered the cellar. An involuntary shudder overtakes me as he descends the stairs, his pale white skin contrasting starkly against his billowing robes. He twists his wand and a dim light fills the room. I lay curled up against the wall, my knees drawn up under my chin in an attempt to conserve my limited body heat. As he approaches, I push myself up with the intention to stand, but his voice stops me once I've reached the point where I'm resting on my knees.

"There is no need for you to stand." He leers down at me, red eyes gleaming. "I prefer you as you are – beneath me…in your rightful place."

I am too grateful in my weakened state for an excuse to remain on the ground to let his remark phase me. I do my best to look him in the eye, not moving from my kneeling position.

A small movement just behind Voldemort to the left alerts me to the presence of Bellatrix and Lucius. The Dark Lord's arrival had so jarred me that I completely overlooked their presence. Draco isn't here, but I hadn't expected any different. Voldemort has begun talking again.

"So your time is up, Mudblood. This will be your final chance to answer my questions by your own will."

He places the tip of his wand in the open palm of his free hand, tapping it in the curve of his long fingers several times before letting it rest.

"Will you tell me where Harry Potter is hiding?"

As the question falls in the damp silence of the cellar, I feel time slow to a creeping pace. I know what I must say; I cannot possibly say otherwise. But my body shivers, reminding me of what will surely come as a swift response to my final act of defiance. In these few, torturous seconds following his inquiry, I fight a furious battle with myself. In the end, it is clear what side has won, for my lips part and I speak in a voice much stronger than I feel.

"No."

I meet his eyes steadily, hardly even blinking. A long, low hiss emanates from him, and the next instant his wand jabs toward me and I'm thrown violently against the wall. White stars burst behind my closed lids, and with a grunt I fall to the ground. I hear Bellatrix's giddy cackle ringing in my ears.

Opening my eyes, I raise my head just in time to see a flash of red light. I didn't even hear him utter the curse, but the familiar pain once again tears across my nerves. I will never get used to this agonizing feeling. It's as if I can feel myself slowly coming undone as I twist and twitch on the cold, hard floor. I keep waiting, silently begging, for the curse to be lifted – if even for a moment. But I remain pinned beneath his wand without any hope of reprieve. I hear my screams turning into harsh sobs as the pain goes on.

Slowly, something within me begins to turn. I wonder, would it be so horrible for me to just tell them where Harry's gone? What he's been doing all these months? Of course, they will most likely kill me anyway after I tell them…but at least then the pain would stop…

No. Of course I cannot tell them. How could I?

But the idea of releasing myself from the agony, having it all end here…

Just as I have come to the brink of screaming out a plea for him to stop, I see a blur of brilliant white light appear across the room.

I think the curse must be finally breaking my mind, for it looked as if the light had descended down through the ceiling, like a ghost. Suddenly I realize that Voldemort's wand is no longer pointed down at me, but hanging loosely at his side as his eyes fall upon the strange new presence in the cellar. Shaking uncontrollably, I try to quiet my choking sobs as I peer dimly across at the light, which is now moving toward me. As it comes nearer, it seems to take on a sort of sleek-like form. I blink at it, and slowly it hits me:

This is a Patronus.

And when I see amidst the whisps of hazy light the unmistakable shape of a ferret, my heart stops.

"_Draco_…" his name escapes my lips without warning.

This is Draco's Patronus.

A moment later, I hear his voice drifting eerily through the thin damp air. My eyes are glued to it; I've become unaware of anything else in the room.

"It's time. Be ready. I've kept my promise…"

The Patronus leaps into the air and sweeps softly around my shoulders.

"Be safe.."

These last two words end in a hissing whisper, and then the light is gone.

I feel myself grow cold as I realize the horrible irony of this situation. Looking up slowly, I see Voldemort, Bellatrix, and Lucius all staring down at me with the same expression: horrified fury.

Voldemort's voice – even colder than usual – breaks the silence. He turns to Bellatrix, fixing her with a pointed stare.

"Bellatrix…if you would be so kind…"

In response and to my surprise, she Disapparates. I have just worked out that her ability to Disapparate where I could not must have to do with her Dark Mark, when with another loud crack she Apparates back amongst us. But she's not alone. Held in his aunt's vice-like grip, looking down at me in horror, is Draco.

I barely hold back a sob.

It's clear that he has realized his mistake as his eyes travel from person to person, finally landing on the Dark Lord. I see him suppress a shudder.

With a disgusted hiss, Bellatrix shoves Draco forward. As he stands unsteadily beneath the gaze of Voldemort, his fingers discretely wrap about the handle of his wand, which is tucked up his sleeve.

"_Expelliarmus_!" Lucius barks, and Draco's arm flies to the side as his wand is pulled from his sleeve and shoots through the air, landing in Lucius' open palm. For the second time Draco watches his wand disappear into the inner folds of his father's cloak.

"Thank you, Lucius…"

All eyes, including Draco's, have returned to the Dark Lord's imposing form, which now exudes an almost palpable hatred as he stares unblinkingly at Draco. Then, with the sound of rippling robes and a flash of Voldemort's wand, Draco is thrown back against the opposite wall, his arms pinned at a slight angle apart from his sides.

A small gasp escapes me as Draco hits the wall, and I press my trembling fingers over my lips, unable to tear my eyes away from the scene unfolding before me.

In two, gliding strides, Voldemort arrives only inches from where Draco is pinned. His long-nailed, curling fingers close around Draco's neck, and he holds his wand aloft, pointing downward. I hear Draco draw in a quick breath as he feels his throat constrict under the pressure of Voldemort's grip. He rolls his eyes up to meet the red ones narrowed down at him, and I can see a flicker of defiance amidst the fear in his expression.

"For the last time, Draco, you have betrayed me…The last time.."

"Hopefully i-it will be..enough!" Draco manages to choke out as Voldemort's grip tightens. I watch in growing panic as the long jagged nails on Voldemort's fingers slowly dig into Draco's throat, causing small beads of bright red blood to appear and slide down the side of his neck, staining the dark green collar of his shirt.

"Insolent, traitorous fool!" Voldemort spits at him. "Why did you send that message? What was it's meaning!"

Several red sparks explode from the tip of his wand, catching Draco on the side of his face and he hisses in pain. I can see him clench his jaw and steadily meet the burning gaze of the Dark Lord. To everyone's shock, a low, strangled laugh sounds from Draco's throat and a strange, challenging smile tugs at the corners of his lips. The sight sends a chill down my spine. Then he speaks, his eyes locking with mine from across the room.

"They're coming."

**Buckle up everyone, because things are about to get crazy! :D The next chapter/two chapters will be fantastically intense ;) Don't forget to please review - Any feedback you have is greatly appreciated, and it helps inspire me to keep writing!**


	14. (AUTHORS NOTE)

**Hello my dears!**

**THIS IS AN AUTHOR'S NOTE TO REASSURE YOU THAT THIS STORY HAS NOT BEEN ABANDONED 3**

**I realize that it's been far too long since I've updated this story…and it does make me sad. However – don't think that I've abandoned it! Because I definitely have not; but I am currently caught up in the busiest semester of my major and have had absolutely no time to write! Ugh! But never fear – once spring break hits (and then summer!) I shall pick it back up and carry it through to the end. Once again, I apologize for such a long hiatus…I do miss this story.**

**Thank you to those of you who keep reviewing even though it's so outdated! Love you all :)**


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